Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our global submissions.

​Characters:Dave – 30sEd – 20s

Lights up slowly on a single desk DSL with a pneumatic tube coming down from the ceiling just above it. Dave sits at the desk, at a computer. Ed stands under the tube. He catches a parcel that falls out of it and starts to unwrap it, taking out a photograph and a note.

DAVE: What do we have?

ED: Let’s see…

An image of a man and woman at a New Year’s Eve party, smiling at the camera projects onto the back wall.

Uhhh, okay, standard. She says that it’s her now-ex boyfriend of four years, she wants him erased from the picture, and, also asks if we can remove the red eye.

DAVE: Simple.

On the projection we see Dave’s work. The man slowly disappears under the computer cursor, and the flash is removed from the woman’s eyes. Dave also makes her mouth imperceptibly bigger. He chuckles.

I like doing that sometimes. And, send to print.

He hits a key and the image disappears. They wait.

ED: I wonder what happened.

DAVE: Hmm?

ED: With them. The boyfriend.

DAVE: He probably cheated. That’s the case with most of the ones I’ve seen.

ED: Yeah. Do you usually fuck around with it like that? With the facial features?

DAVE: Ah, sometimes. It’s just my own little joke. It’s for me.

Ed laughs politely. They wait. Another parcel drops out of the tube, Ed catches it, repeats the process. An old image of a small child on a bike, with a man steadying him, both laughing.

ED: Okay, his dad refused to put him in the will because of a dispute over money, so he wants his dad replaced with a dog of some sort so that he looks more impressive for outrunning the dog.

Dave chuckles and repeats his process, the image changes with the father gone and a dog in his place. He hits send. They wait.

ED: Do you think there’s something immoral about this?

DAVE: How?

ED: Messing with people’s possessions. Their memories.

DAVE: It’s a job. And is it immoral if they’re asking for it?

ED: I suppose not.

DAVE: If it pays well, I’ll do it.

ED: Me too, I suppose.

Silence. Another parcel that Ed unwraps. Two photographs appear on the wall, two young men, clearly at different parties, smiling shyly. Ed looks confusedly at the projection and reads the note.

DAVE: Well? What is it?

ED: Just, uh… read it.

Ed hands Dave the letter.

DAVE: “Dear Corrective. Picture A is myself, and picture B is my friend Ian. Some years ago we had an argument over something very arbitrary, that I deeply regret. We did not speak again. Last year Ian died of cancer, and I know that my life’s biggest mistake that I did not attend his funeral. I threw away all my pictures of him. Could you please edit these two together, so I can pretend I have one more memory of him? From Gary.”

Ed and Dave sit in silence for a while. Dave eventually begins to work on the photograph, making it look like the two men are in the same room, adjusting light and background accordingly until he is finished. He sits back.

ED: Lunch break?

DAVE: Yeah. Lunch break.

Ed exits as Dave picks up his coat from the back of his chair. He pauses, and goes to the computer again. The smiles of the two men in the picture get very slightly bigger. Dave smiles and hits send, he follows Ed. Lights down as the image projected fades to black.

Aaron Finnegan is a twenty-two-year-old writer and director from Drogheda, Ireland. He is a recent graduate of the Drama and Theatre Studies course at Trinity College Dublin. His work has been published in the Irish Times, Icarus, and Big Birds Collective. In 2018 he won the Hennessy Literary Award for First Fiction for his story Just This. He hopes you are doing okay.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions.

ACT I

Scene 1

A sitting room-cum-dining room. BRENDAN (40) sits on a couch downstage left. Upstage right is a kitchen table littered with breakfast detritus.

Brendan is in his boxers with a cold cup of tea at his feet, playing STREETFIGHTER loudly.

Crista (35) enters from Stage Right holding her laptop. Full face of makeup, dressed from the waist up in office attire and in patterned pyjamas from the waist down. Exasperated by the mess, she starts clearing the table. Brendan tries to ignore her at first, so she cleans louder.

BRENDAN:(lowering the volume)Are you trying to get my attention or what?

CRISTA:Could you not have tidied up after yourself, no?

BRENDAN:I left it out for you.

Crista picks up the cereal box and rattles it - almost empty, the milk is the same. She continues clearing.

CRISTA:You finished everything!?

BRENDAN:(shrugs) Well I couldn’t just go to the shops without a list like, you know cos we can only go the once so...

CRISTA:(under her breath)Convenient.

BRENDAN:What?

CRISTA:Nothing.

BRENDAN:No, you said something, what did you say?

CRISTA:Nothing.. I said obedient, that’s very obedient of you.A real rules guy you are these days.

She’s trying to be playful but it’s just not coming off.

CRISTA:(cont.d) Right, well, I’ve to do this bloody Zoom call with my entire team now. I told you about it last night.

BRENDAN:Mmmhmm... Was that before or after you put the cushions down the middle of the bed?

CRISTA:I know that seemed extreme, I’m sorry, I’m wrecked and I have to make sure I can sleep, they have me working like a dog now that they know I’ve no where else to be.

BRENDAN:You made your point anyway. Noooo physical contact. Got it!

Brendan turns up the game. The BLAMs and KAPOWs are loud and violent. Crista starts to set up her computer but, overcome with sadness, she crumples into the chair and begins weeping. Brendan, feeling the energy change, looks over his shoulder, wonders whether to pretend he hasn’t noticed, pauses the game. He sits there for a moment. The only sound is Crista’s gentle weeping.

BRENDAN:Do you need a tissue.

CRISTA:I have one... thanks... This is hell for me too you know?

BRENDAN:Well it was your decision so...

CRISTA:And you agreed, it makes sense Brendan, we’re not making each other happy.

BRENDAN:We’re in the middle of a lockdown in a one-bedroom apartment Crista, what kind of time is this to break up with someone?

CRISTA:I just feel like everything has come into sharp focus. You’re the one who brought up the topic!

Brendan shakes his head.

BRENDAN:Jesus Christ. We’ve so much free time I just thought, what better time to make babies?!

CRISTA:You’ve so much free time.

BRENDAN:That’s a low-blow.

CRISTA:I’m sorry, just, like it’s relevant. I’m finally really killing it in work and, like, I’ve always told you where I stand on the kid thing. It’s you that’s doing a 180 on it. Not me.

BRENDAN:I just... I thought... I thought after 10 bloody years, I thought you might love me enough to change your mind...

CRISTA:I do love you Brendan.

They sit in this moment. Together but so far apart.A BLOOP from the laptop.

JENNY:Hi Crista! Just waiting on the rest to join and then you can take the reins ok? Excited about your first big presententation!?

​Suri Grennell works predominantly in casting for Factual-Entertainment in the Television industry while moonlighting as a film writer and director. Her short films have screened at Dublin International Film Festival, Galway Film Fleadh, Kerry Film Festival, Fastnet Festival, Offline Festival and Irish Film Festival London.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our global submissions.

Talvi: Sleep tight, peanut.

Valo: Tell it again.

Talvi: Again? Trouble resting, love? (Pause) Alright then… Once upon a time, many, many years ago, when nana was young /

Valo: How many many years ago?

Talvi: Almost ten times your years.

Valo: (shows fingers) I’m this many years!

Talvi: Ten times your age ago, nana lived in a distant land, on an island far away from here. Nana worked in a little café, in a place where everyone could come and buy tea and coffee shipped from sunny, even more distant lands across the ocean /

Valo: Because when nana was young, food was different and came from far away.

Talvi: One day, when nana was in work, a very special guest walked in and ordered /

Valo: Ginger tea!

Nana: And that special guest was /

Valo: Nana!

Talvi: You are right, that’s how I met your other nana. I thought straight away she was special, and somehow had the courage to ask her to meet again. To my surprise, she agreed. So we met again, and then again, and again. Soon we started traveling the world together, exploring places near and far, some so far it would take you over 100 days and nights to walk there without ever taking breaks!

Valo: Because when nana was young, people got to those far away places in one day, almost any person on the island could go, any time, anywhere they wanted to go.

Talvi: That is true, and /

Valo: Everyone could also buy all the things they wanted from shops!

Talvi: Yes, and then /

Valo: But papa repairs things.

Talvi: Sure your papa does, but back then, people had forgotten how to repair, and it was easy to buy new things.

Valo: Everyone was rich.

Talvi: No dear, most people weren’t rich. We weren’t rich either, but it was cheap to buy, and there was plenty of everything. We even bought shirts and dresses just to wear them once, and didn’t feel sad throwing them out.

Valo: Nanas didn’t make clothes.

Talvi: Nanas didn’t know how to make clothes, and back then, your other nana couldn’t even sew a button, and believe it or not, fix a bike, a wobbly chair or cook.

Valo: Because nana was a baby.

Talvi: No, nana wasn’t a baby anymore. It was just easier then. You could buy just anything ready-made, even meals packed in plastic ready to eat. (Pause) Anyway, your nanas got to know each other, and they loved each other very much. And because of the people on the island, there was a vote, and they voted so that nanas and others like nanas could get married. So we did. But nana missed home and didn’t want to stay on the island for longer, and your other nana decided to follow her so they could be together.

Spring: (enters) What’s with all the chitchat in here?

Valo: Nana says when you were young you couldn’t cook even though you were not a baby.

​Spring: That’s what your nana says? Keep in mind your nana is a well-known storyteller. Now, nap-time is up, it’s time to get out in the garden. Gingers are sprouting, why don’t you two historians start digging up the roots, and I’ll make us all a cuppa?

​

Onerva Helne is a theatre-maker and director currently based in Helsinki, Finland. She graduated from MA Theatre Practice in the Gaiety School of Acting / UCD in 2018. She has created original works including IKTAKOP, performed in Scene & Heard Festival in 2018, and Lähde / Headwaters performed in Helsinki in 2019. Find @onahelne on Instagram and theatre company @nollacollective on Instagram & Facebook.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions.

​

CHARACTERS:CIARANJOYCESADIE

CIARAN sits behind a large desk - JOYCE sits down.

JOYCE: Now.

CIARAN: Brilliant.

JOYCE: So?

CIARAN: So you know why you’re here?

JOYCE: I do.

CIARAN: Good. Because of the incident.

JOYCE: The incident, yes.

CIARAN: Joyce, what happened was a huge/

JOYCE: Yeah.

CIARAN: /embarrassment for the company.

JOYCE: Course.

CIARAN: You understand?

JOYCE: I do.

CIARAN: Good. Because obviously I have to, y’know - (Searching for the right word)

(TOGETHER) JOYCE: Reimburse.

(TOGETHER) CIARAN Reprimand.

Brief pause

CIARAN: What?

JOYCE: What?

CIARAN: Did you say reimburse?

JOYCE: I did.

CIARAN: I said reprimand.

JOYCE: Oh. Why?

CIARAN: Because of what happened?

JOYCE: What happened?

CIARAN: Well. If I can speak plainly?

JOYCE: Please.

CIARAN: You were masturbating in a Zoom meeting.

JOYCE: Oh that.

CIARAN: Yes that.

JOYCE: I can explain that.

CIARAN: Can you?

JOYCE: Yeah.

Pause

CIARAN: Go on.

JOYCE: I was sleeping.

CIARAN: You were nude.

JOYCE: I sleep nude.

CIARAN: Several people saw you. Someone recorded you. It’s on the internet Joyce.

JOYCE: Right. Is it?

CIARAN: The CFO’s seen it.

JOYCE: Yikes.

CIARAN: Yikes indeed. So you see why I have to- What was the incident that you were-

JOYCE: Oh, the pay cut.

CIARAN: The 10% pay cut? You wanted/

JOYCE: I want to be reimbursed. I work very hard, Ciaran. I want that 10% back.

Pause

CIARAN: You can’t have it, Joyce.

JOYCE: Right. Because of the masturbating?

CIARAN: No that’s a separate-

JOYCE: I didn’t come if that’s the issue.

SADIE: God.

CIARAN: That’s not the-

JOYCE: Because I make a real show of it when I come.

CIARAN: That’s really not the (pause) issue.

SADIE: Joyce that’s not the issue for us.

JOYCE: Well Sadie the issue for me, if I can speak plainly?

CIARAN: Please.

JOYCE: The issue for me is that you cut 10% of my pay.

CIARAN: That was company-wide.

SADIE: Everyone took a pay cut Joyce.

JOYCE: But my hours weren’t cut by 10%.

CIARAN: No.

JOYCE: And they should have been.

CIARAN: Well-

JOYCE: So I’ve made the decision to take 10% of my day off.

CIARAN: You can’t do that.

JOYCE: Why?

Silence

CIARAN: Because.

JOYCE: That particular Zoom meeting fell during that time.

CIARAN: Right.

JOYCE: So I think that solves it. You can keep your 10% and I’ll keep mine.

CIARAN: Em. Sadie?

SADIE: Joyce?

JOYCE: Ok great, thanks guys.

JOYCE hangs up

End

​Ciara Elizabeth Smyth is an award-winning Irish playwright. She was the chosen playwright for Rough Magic’s SEEDS programme 2018-2020 & has just completed a commission with the Abbey Theatre for Dear Ireland 2020. Her most recent play, SAUCE, was chosen for artist support initiative DUETS & presented in Dublin Fringe Festival 2019 (nominated for the Little Gem Award, Judge’s Choice Award & Spirit of the Fringe Award). SAUCE will be published by Nick Hern Books 2020 & is being adapted as a television series. Ciara is a resident artist in the MAC Theatre Belfast 2020 & is represented by Curtis Brown. Find Ciara on Twitter @ciaraesmyth and Instagram @ciaraesmyth.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions.

A middle-aged man, looking in a mirror. Over the course of the text, he applies a full face of makeup, but the effect is merely to make him look healthier, younger and, if anything, more masculine. By the time he’s finished, he looks alive and confident.

It's all a bit shit, isn't it? Who woulda thought it could all fall apart THAT fast?Jesus. I haven’t put on makeup in about a month. Why bother? Nobody wants to see me singing on the internet. My magic was live. You had to be there.

I haven’t qualified for the unemployment handout. Computer says no. Look at me. Middle aged poz drag queen finds self aggressively unemployed with zero support. Evidently glamour is non-essential. Joy is an unnecessary journey. Lip-synching isn’t a genre that the arts council wants to support. (I tried for their scheme too.) And since I keep not winning the Euromillions, it’s time to get a job. I need medicine. My income was always enough that I could live on it, but not quite fabulous enough to afford health insurance. I had a rather creative system in place to get my cocktail for you-know-what. It was just about working. And then Madame Rona showed up. (How many baby queens will use that name in years to come? And we will shout TOO SOON.)

A certain famous older queen - a stately homo - told me years ago that ladies like us don’t go through the change of life. But we reach a certain age, a turning point, when perhaps we choose something new. She did. But it looks like the choice is being made for me. Ironically I’d been calling the whole nightmare the rona-pause. (You can figure that out, can’t you? Whole world on pause? Well done.) But perhaps this is my change-of-life moment for real.

Subway was looking for staff. I’d be terrible. I would want to customise people’s sandwiches instead of making them according to the system. I would be trying to put glitter in the coleslaw. Could I work in Tesco? They’d have me heaving trollies around because I’m a man. I’d be far better suited to sitting on the till - judging your choices, doing that new dance we do, avoiding any physical contact while I hand you your change.

Christ, will I ever have sex again? I can barely cope with the idea of shaking hands. The stress! Where have you been? When’s the last time someone coughed near you? Have you eaten any pangolin recently? (And do you have a good recipe?) I contracted the last virus because of one stupid oversight. The gays should be leading the charge on this one. I feel like a martyr saying things like “I learned the hard way that the virus can reach anyone.” But it’s poxy true. And this one doesn’t even come after a night of passion! A jogger breathing on you as he passes you is enough.

Boots had a sign in the window. They’ve a new desk setup now where the staff talks at you. I’d be brilliant. World’s meanest door bitch. I know anti-virals, skincare products, and fake tan better than anyone. I could save so many lost souls from buying the wrong products. Think of all those kids saved from sharpie eyebrows and orange skin thanks to a caution from yours truly. Be the change you want to see in the world, eh?

Interview is at noon. I’ve only put on the tiniest kiss of product, since I’ve been indoors for seven weeks, since I’m technically immunocompromised. But hey - needs must. No lashes, of course. Just a little tinted moisturiser. Or, to give it its technical term: war paint.

I have to get it. A change is as good as a rest, right? Well, I’ve had the rest. Here goes.

Conor, erstwhile stage director, makes a weekly podcast about Hamlet and he has started writing a play. Find him on instagram, twitter, and facebook @conorhanratty.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions.​

Three women (any age) are playing with Barbies, surrounded byaccessories.

MOLLYWe are young and living in our Dream House together

SAMWith our rich husbands who we are in love with

ADDYExcept for my husband, who died tragically

SAMYou cried for days

MOLLYWe are happy with our careers

ADDYWe are successes!

MOLLYHappy with things!

SAMDishwasher/

ADDYpool/

SAMprivate jet/

MOLLYPink/ pink/ pinkuntil lunch.

ADDYThree meals a day for forever is a harsh sentence

MOLLYThe first time I ordered Domino’s on my own--Pizza/

SAMbreadsticks/

ADDYcinnamon twists--

MOLLYI wept because it felt like self-sufficiency

SAMIndepence

ADDYBecause we’d talked so much about freedom and this was my way of understanding what thatmeant

MOLLYI want and want,I am struggling to keep up with all the THINGS,I am getting better and better!

SAMOr maybe fuller and fuller!

ADDYMy unpacked suitcase is expanding and I am already thinking of the day when I will pack mythings againAnd be unhappy elsewhere

MOLLYI send the same sad texts to the same two people who still make me feel better thanVintage earrings from Ebay ever did,

SAMI rediscover a facebook photo from 2013,(life is long, isn’t it)

ADDYI reveal to my public the album that helped me discover hip hop,of course no one cares like I do.

MOLLYI hold tight to the things I have created to be truths

ADDYI love Kanye

SAMI don’t eat meat,

MOLLYI dare to call myself artist from a young age and never recover.No one ever looks at me and says “you’ve changed”,So I say it to myself in fits of imagined fatness or glow.

ADDYI love and love and loveShitty teen romances and girlpop on repeat,

SAMTwo weeks of yoga that don’t save my soul,

MOLLYTwo years of dyed hair to sayI CANNOT CONTINUE TO BE THE PERSON I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN

SAMA crate of cleaning products and do we have to keep doing this?Will I always, always be consuming?

MOLLYBut Kesha is back without her dollar sign,

SAMThe Dixie Chicks are on the Top Charts again,Emerging from their pre-Spotify glory dayssinging about psychological manipulation,

ADDYAnd I am asking and asking if anyone has checked up on Trippie, on Frank, on Kendrick,To let him know we ARE praying for himTo let him know his music is how we pray now,We are joyful and singing together,We have no right.

MOLLYThe rappers are driving themselves to extinction

ADDYSoon we will be of the age where all our idols are dead

MOLLYBut I have my 70 pack of Jaffa cakes coming in the mail

ADDYMy case of wine

SAMMy beetroot serum.

MOLLYThe impermanence of my Self and the dreadful permanence of every day.But we are young and your names are still on my phone screen

SAMGreen dots by your names

ADDYA reassurance

MOLLYYou are still tethered to the EarthNothing is lost

Julia Marks is an actor and theatre-maker originally from South Carolina. She graduated from the Gaiety School of Acting in 2019, and previously received a BA in Theatre from the College of Charleston. She is a founding member of iii States Collective, a producing company focused on challenging theatrical form and expectations. They recently staged their first original work, Cove Creek Boys and Summer Girls, at the Scene and Heard Festival 2020, which was her professional writing and acting debut. You can find her on Instagram at @iiistates or @theconfessionrooms.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our global submissions.

Lights. Audio of rain, continuous. Stage middle, a woman in late-twenties – Herself – sitting on left of armchair before a barricaded door, staring left as if into unfathomable depths. A man – Himself – appears from right of stage, pacing, sitting upon armchair, reaching right-arm out. Herself accepts his touch.

Herself: Would have wanted children.

Himself: Would a’ like to’ve been a dad.

Herself: Have sons.

Himself: Daughters.

HERSELF TWISTS TOWARDS HIMSELF.

Herself: Daughters?

Himself: Daughters, aye. Teach em bou butterflies. Bees.

Herself: They’ll be missed, bees.

Himself: But remembered.

Herself: Not remembered. Mythologised like all abused things.

Himself: Could’ve given our daughters mythic names. Naturey names.

Herself: Names like Roan. Willow. Ash.

Himself: There’ll be ash enough. In the end.

Herself: In an end we’ll see. We’d have been good parents in better times.

HIMSELF STARES AT HERSELF.

Himself: You’d be a mighty mother in monstrous times.

Herself: Burning times.

Himself: Dying times.

Herself: Times of silence and noise.

Himself: Big hard-boy noise.

Herself: Absolute bitches of words.

Himself: ‘Catastrophic.’ ‘Unprecedented.’ ‘Unimaginable.’

Herself: ‘Acidification.’ ‘Biocide.’ ‘Pyrocene.’

Himself: Biblical stuff.

Herself: Sci-fi crap.

Himself: What would her first words be?

HERSELF LETS GO OF HIMSELF.

Herself: Only one daughter?

Himself: There’d be only time and space for one, if one at all.

Herself: One’s enough.

Himself: Nuff to invest in.

Herself: Better be good first words. They’ll be the first of the last of all words.

Himself: Best teach her right.

Herself: No arsehole-words.

Himself: No ‘mortgages.’

Herself: No ‘quantitative-easing.’

Himself: No ‘ethnic-cleansing.’

Herself: No ‘asset-liquidation.’

Himself: No ‘algorithmic-governmentality.’

Herself: No ‘neoliberalism.’

Himself: No ‘vulture-funds.’

Herself: No ‘bear markets.’

Himself: Just actual bears.

Herself: Actual words.

Himself: Gorgeous useless truthful words.

HERSELF RISES OFF ARMCHAIR.

Herself: Then let’s teach her the language of soil and rain.

Himself: Like ‘Quagga?’

Herself: Yes! Quagga!

Himself: And ‘Eucalyptus.’

Herself: ‘Platypus.’

Himself: ‘Spermaceti.’

Herself: ‘Okapi.’

Himself: ‘Binturong.’

Herself: ‘Wobbegong.’

Himself: ‘Rorqual.’

Herself: ‘Quetzal.’

Himself: ‘Gorilla.’

Herself: ‘Sequoia.’

Himself: All the words.​Herself: The words that matter.

CEASELESS BANGING AT DOOR.

Himself: But the world’s been wrote off.

Herself: We’ve rode it into the ground.

Himself: Some more than others.

Herself: Oh we’re all complicit. In the screwing over –

Himself / Herself: –of each other.

Himself: Of everything.

HERSELF SITS AGAIN.

Herself: Everything that was to be hers.

Himself: What’ll we do?

Herself: Have sex.

Himself: Global-warming orgies.

Herself: Picture it. Us two. Riding. On the beach. Wave coming.

Himself: Fires spreading.

Herself: Birds falling.

Himself: Fish floating.

Herself: Us two going at it like beasts.

Himself: Riding back to our roots.

Herself: Best way to go out. Bang. Bang.

Himself: Pop.

Herself: Middle-fingered F.U. to the apocalypse.

Himself: Get stuffed, Doomsday!

Herself: Piss off, Ragnarok!

HIMSELF HOLDS HIS HEAD.

Himself: Christ Jesus. We’re not even thirty.

Herself: She wouldn’t reach thirty.

Himself: Did our parents contend with this. Did theirs?

Herself: They’d their battles too. Their great wars.

Himself: But we’ve the war on everything. Must we accept the selfishness of bringing a daughter into a world upping sticks and checking out?

Herself: Then let’s not.

Himself: Not have a child?

HERSELF STANDS, LIFTNG HIMSELF FROM ARMCHAIR.

Herself: Not let this stop us.

AUDIO OF RAIN TURNS TO THUNDER. BANGING AT DOOR INTENSIFTING.

Himself: Ok.

Herself: Yes?

Himself: Let’s have a child.

HERSELF PLACES HER FOREHEAD AGAINST THAT OF HIMSELF, CRYING ANGRILY, DEFIANTLY.

Herself: Our wild child.

Himself: Our climate queen.

Herself: Our ecocide empress.

Himself: Our living breathing daughter.

Herself: Our daughter who’ll live and breathe.

Himself: Who’ll outlive this.

Herself: Outlive everything.

LIGHTS OUT. AUDIO OF STORM AND BANGING PEAKING, FADING.

Ryan is a twenty five year old artist and writer, who graduated from University College Dublin in 2017 with a Masters in Creative Writing. He is originally from Gorey in Wexford. He had formerly been teaching English before the virus, and he is hoping to pursue a career as a novelist, artist, and environmental activist. Most of his creative work explores issues of climate change, biodiversity loss, sexuality, mythology and spirituality. Some of his artwork is featured on his instagram account @ryan.murphy73550.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our global submissions.

(Three women on stage. They hold pictures of hands.)

WomanOne: This is the picture of my father’s hands. You know them. They would give you your sausage, pepper, and onion sandwich out the window of his food truck. Everyday. No matter. His hands cut the food, cooked it, assembled it and then gave it to you dripping with sauce. You would ask for extra napkins.

WomanTwo: These are my mother’s. She wrote books. She made quilts. For family. Friends. She knitted shawls and sweaters. She adjusted my father’s ties with them. She would pat them on her knee as she read a book. Pat pat, pat pat.

WomanThree: My brother’s. He built tables. Dining tables. Come to the table everyone. He built beautiful tables.

WomanOne: My father died from this. He’s buried on Hart Island. Our Potter’s Field. Too many dying at once. There’s no time for funerals or wakes or any of the proper rituals. Load them up and bury them quick. Line one on top of the other, on top of the other, on top of… He wanted to be cremated. He picked out the urn years ago. The Funeral home made me pay for it though I have nothing to put in it.

WomanThree: That’s horrible.

WomanOne: Yes.

WomanTwo: Maybe his apron. Did he have a favorite?

WomanOne: He did. Your mother?

WomanTwo: In one of the refrigerated trucks waiting to be buried or something. I wanted to go and put my arms around the trucks. All of them. Not just for my mom, for all the people but no one’s allowed near.

WomanThree: My brother was early on. Got a virtual Funeral which he would have said “Wow I’m like a Star Trek Episode.” His hands built tables for people to come together and enjoy a meal, a conversation, a laugh. His hands. And now they say don’t share with your hands. Don’t reach out with them. Keep them to yourself. They’re dangerous. But they’re what we hold with, what we create with.

WomanOne: We high five with and shake with.

WomanTwo: We snap, tickle, and blow kisses with.

WomanThree: We bake and knead with.

WomanOne: We zip and button with.

WomanThree: And lift with.

WomanTwo: We catch balls and hold babies with.

WomanOne: Some talk with them.

(WomanOne does the sign language for “Hello?”)

WomenThree: We build bridges and ships and planes and buildings with these.

(WomanThree holds up her hands.)

WomanOne: We make paintings, sculptures, music with them.

WomanTwo: We mend bones, hearts, lungs, lives with them.

WomanOne: We love with them.

WomanThree: We pick each other up with them.

WomanOne: We write letters, thank you cards.

WomanThree: Sympathy and birthday cards.

WomanThree: We applaud with them. Every night, everywhere, everyone applauding to all those helping. To all those caring.To all those saving and losing and getting up again and doing it all over because we never lost hope.

(Three starts applauding she is quickly joined by one and two. They face the audience. The clapping turns to a rhythm. Now they are dancing with the clapping. This is a celebration of hands. It reaches a crescendo of clapping sound and dancing and then is lights out. Silence Done.)

Holli Harms is a playwright, screenwriter. She is a member of Dramatist Guild, Ensemble Studio Theatre, NYWFT, and on the board of Women In the Arts and Media Coalition. She is guest Lecturer at School Of Visual Arts College (SVA) NYC, as well as, screenwriter for SVA. She has been awarded the Dramatist Guild Fellowship, EST/ Sloan Grant, Terence G Hall Fellowship, TNT Pops Winner, and Three Time Winner of Austin Film Festival Second Rounder. Her Short Narrative Film, Icarus Stops For Breakfast continues to win awards. She lives in Manhattan with her husband, daughter and dog. Visit her website @ holliharms.com.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions.

A monologue, for anyone.

Note: each moment continues past where the sentence stops.

****

Recently I haven’t been able to--Haven’t been able to fini--Every sentence just seems t--Every time I try t--As much as I try I--I can never just--

As you can--As I’m sure you--It makes it very difficult to--To--Or--Or even--… Do you know what I—?… Never--Never my--My--

It makes me seem--Getting off buses, not able to--And at work only--It’s made me a stranger to my--To my--Even I don’t--

… I’m--

The first time this--It was--I was--Now, I hadn’t been on a--If you could call it a--And the restaurant was--And she was--And I thought it’d--I obvious didn’t think that--And it wasn’t until we--And the waiter is--And no words are--It just keeps--And there’s nothing I--Nothing I--And I’m try--And she’s--And all I can--And the waiter is--And I just--

Couldn’t even call her a--

That sounded like--

Let’s just say their wasn’t a--Wasn’t a--

I’ve seen a--Just so you--They say it’s something I--“Can’t go over it, must go—“It’s all up--

And I do wonder--I do wonder why it’s--And I’ve tried but--

… As if I don’t--

In prison, you get given a--Given a life s--And I’ve been think--I’ve been--What if life is a--Is--Just words that--With a--Do we all just have a--And those few words are--And then it’s—?

… I know why I--

Why I can’t--

I can’t fini--

Can’t finish--

Can’t--

If life is just a s--Then what was your—?Did your sentence go—?Did it just—?

And I feel like I am--That I’ve--That everything has gone incompl--All my memories are--All my ideas are--Without you to--Without--

And that’s why I--That’s why I don’t--Because if I--Well then does that mean--Does that—?

I don’t want to--And I think that if I--Then you’ll be--You’ll--And I--So I--

And I know it’s--It sounds--It sounds absolutely--But--But--But nothing is worth saying if I can’t say it to you.

Rían is a playwright from Dublin, based in Navan, Co. Meath and Edinburgh, Scotland.

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallengeIn these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?​Below is one of the chosen plays from our global submissions.

Lights up on the kitchen/dining room of a modest three bed semi-detached house in Dublin. It is cosy, lived-in and spotless – a well cared for home. A worn out dog lies sleeping in his bed beside the fridge. MAUREEN and DECLAN, a married couple in their 50’s enter at a pace.

/ indicates the next line cuts off a character mid sentence.

MAUREEN No, I’ve had it!

DECLAN Maureen/

MAUREEN I mean it this time!

DECLAN Calm down love/

MAUREEN NEVER the appropriate response Declan!

DECLAN Sorry, I know, I do know that, isolation brain, just sit down till I make ye a cup of tea! DECLAN proceeds to make tea.

MAUREEN Tea isn’t going to fix this one pal!

DECLAN Pal?

MAUREEN Yeah!

DECLAN That’s a new one.

MAUREEN I know I said they were all welcome but I was only really being polite!

DECLAN You used to love them all being here!

MAUREEN I know! I did! I really did! For little SNIPPETS of time though!

DECLAN Well there’s no going back now I’m afraid.

MAUREEN One of them could go…

DECLAN And how do you propose to make that choice diplomatically?

MAUREEN I don’t know. Last in first out?

DECLAN Last in… like, last one of our children born, or last one to bag an other half? And just the biological offspring’s other half or does the child get the boot too?

MAUREEN You’re purposely complicating this.

DECLAN You don’t have the heart.

Suddenly the Friends theme music blares from the sitting room next door.

MAUREEN I could find it.

DECLAN Look at the place.

MAUREEN What?

DECLAN Look at this room! Spotless!

MAUREEN And?

DECLAN Well I didn’t do that.

MAUREEN What’s your point Declan?

DECLAN And look at Rusty! That dog hasn’t seen the likes of the walking he’s getting these days since he was a pup.

MAUREEN He’s worn out, the poor fucker.

DECLAN He’s delighted! And when’s the last time you cooked a dinner?

MAUREEN I cook!

DECLAN The roast of a Sunday and only because you won’t let anyone else near it for fear it won’t meet your standards!

MAUREEN There’s a very specific skill to gravy that young people do NOT appreciate.

DECLAN They won’t be here forever.

MAUREEN I know.

DECLAN And, isn’t it nice to have a busy house again, for a bit?

MAUREEN Busy is an understatement.

DECLAN I know the place wasn’t necessarily built to take 8 adults/

MAUREEN And three dogs!

DECLAN The other two are only small, Maureen.

MAUREEN I heard them last night.

DECLAN What?

MAUREEN From the attic. There’s that floor board that creaks, ye know. I couldn’t sleep so I was up reading and… they must’ve waited till the middle of the night but/

DECLAN Oh.

MAUREEN Yeah.

DECLAN Right.

MAUREEN I believe the term is ‘TMI’.

DECLAN Not ideal.

MAUREEN No…

DECLAN But hey, you want Grandkids so…

MAUREEN Declan! Jesus wept.

DECLAN It could be worse.

MAUREEN How? How could it be worse?

DECLAN Sure if they weren’t here, we wouldn’t be able to see them at all.

MAUREEN …I suppose.

DECLAN And you’d be sick of the sight of me by now.

MAUREEN Never.

MAUREEN gives DECLAN a quick kiss.

MAUREEN You’ve the patience of a saint.

DECLAN I learned from the best.

With that, the kitchen door crashes open to reveal AMY, ROCCO & DIMITRI, DECLAN AND MAUREEN’s eldest daughter and her two French Bulldogs. ROCCO & DIMITRI immediately run to RUSTY, waking him up to play, barking and scrapping. AMY is wearing a giant sombrero, is laden down with shopping bags & very excited about…

AMY FAJITAS!!!

BLACKOUT.

Clare Monnelly is a writer and actor. Her first play Charlie’s a Clepto was nominated for two Irish Times Theatre Awards (Best New Play, Best Actress) and the Stewart Parker New Playwright Bursary. Her second play minefield premiered at the Dublin Fringe Festival 2019 and was nominated for three Fringe Awards (Best Design, Fishamble New Writing Award, First Fortnight Award). As an actor she has worked with Druid, the Gate, the Abbey and Livin Dred among others and on screen for RTÉ, Sky One and TG4. She is an alumnus of Irish Theatre Institute’s Six in the Attic programme.